Tiniest Spec Ops Agent is Tiny and Cute
by White Aster
Summary: Jazz lost the sparkling. Ironhide is going to KILL him. (past!AU, bitty!Bluestreak)


_Author's Note: This is something that grew out of an RP in TF:Prime-verse, an AU where Jazz found his way into Ironhide and Chromia's relationship, and all three of them raised tiny!Bluestreak. This is unrelated to any other story continuity. Also, they use hir/ou gender-neutral pronouns for Bluestreak. Also: ::comm speech::_

Jazz was, he was 95% sure, a HIGHLY-TRAINED SPECIAL OPERATIONS AGENT. He could sneak into Decepticon fortresses five times before his morning energon. He could track mecha across a city, across a wasteland, and into the Pit itself. His sensors were keener than every mech's he knew, save for one, able to determine the pitch of a vocalizer across three rooms, the frametype of a mech after one step.

He was alert. He was observant. He could hear ALL THE THINGS.

So why, and oh Primus HOW, did he keep LOSING THE BITLET? Ou'd been right there! Right in front of him! And then he'd turned around for TWO KLIKS and suddenly no bitlet anywhere! Not under the table or behind the couch or under the berths or in the corners or ANYWHERE in their quarters! Jazz knew! He'd checked twice!

_I lost the bitlet. 'Hide is gonna kill me and string me up as a warning to others._

Jazz's comm pinged, the message tagged high-priority. Jazz ignored it as he dug through the storage locker and then answered it when it pinged insistently. ::Bit busy here right-::

::Did you LOSE something, Jazz?:: Red Alert asked pointedly.

Jazz straightened.

::Because if you lost something, you might want to come get it in Security.:: Red cut the line.

"Oh thank Primus," Jazz said, leaving the storage locker door swinging as he headed for the hall.

"Jazz!" Blue happily abandoned hir wide-eyed stare at all the monitors to attach hirself to Jazz's leg. "Jazz, m'on mon'tor duty!"

"So I see!" Jazz picked up the bitlet and cuddled hir close. "Met a new friend, huh?"

"You are the worst sparkling-sitter ever, Jazz," Red said, taking his optics off the monitors to cast a Very Disappointed look at Jazz.

Jazz looked appropriately chagrined but was interrupted by Blue informing him that this was "Red 'lert!"

"Yeah, so I've heard," Jazz said, to both of them. Blue, satisfied that ou had communicated all the pertinent information, hung hir arms around Jazz's neck and started to blink sleepily.

::The bitlet's the universe's best spec ops agent, Red. I'm obviously outclassed here.::

::Try harder. I found hir scaling down a wall from a maintenance shaft, contemplating crossing a major hall juncture. There were tankformers crossing there, Jazz, and you know how Blurr never obeys the speed limits-::

::I know, I know. Primus, I know.:: Jazz cupped a hand around Blue's back, thin plating shifting under his palm. ::Maintenance shafts, huh? Didn't realize I needed to lock those down, but now I know... Still...ou's smart. And obviously has no sense of self-preservation. Sure wish I had someone with your eyes and ears lookin' our for hir.::

Red Alert turned in his seat to squint at Jazz. ::Are you attempting to manipulate me in some fashion?::

::Who, me?:: Jazz asked innocently.

Bluestreak slowly slumped against Jazz's shoulder, systems falling into strutless, trusting recharge.

Red Alert vented a sigh. ::Jazz, I'm always watching, you know that.::

::I know. ...What would you say to installing some extra eyes and ears in our quarters?::

Red reset his optics. ::It's against regulations to surveil in private quarters without due cause or a written warrant from the proper authorities.::

::I know. But we're doin' our best, and still there's slag like today. I worry. 'Hide and Chromia worry.::

Red's glyphs were grumpy. ::Not to mention that I really have no desire to watch you three's recreational activities. I get quite enough of that from when you DON'T contain such activities to your quarters like NORMAL mecha.::

Jazz grinned. ::I'd tell Chromia you object, but that might just encourage her.::

::Of course.:: Red Alert's optics caught on the sparkling sleeping on Jazz's shoulder, and vented again. ::I'll...think about it. In the interest of...protecting irreplacable personnel.::

::Thanks, Red. You're the best.:: Jazz grinned wider and turned to take his bitty spec ops agent-in-training home.


End file.
